


Newton's Fifth Law of Science

by defyinggravitee



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, College AU, Deeply Erotic Science, Hand Jobs, M/M, No Tentacles, PWP, Sexy Professor, legal age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:02:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8878735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/defyinggravitee/pseuds/defyinggravitee
Summary: Cecil has a hard time focusing in science class, and it's not just because science isn't his best subject. His professor is unfairly gorgeous, and although Cecil thoroughly enjoys the view from across the classroom, he never expects his crush to become anything more than a one-sided infatuation. That is, until one night, when regularly scheduled office hours turn into something else entirely.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, there's not nearly enough fic inspired by the fact that Carlos is, canonically, a professor. Also, now that Cecil's science kink is officially confirmed…you see where I'm going with this.
> 
> Enjoy.

Carlos was a first-name-basis professor.

This was common in the journalism department, which was where Cecil spent most of his time, being a journalism major and all. But the science majors he knew referred to their professors as “Dr. This” or “Dr. That.” They meant this literally, since, as everyone knows, most of the science professors at the University of What It Is had demonstrative pronouns for surnames.

Carlos was an unusual case, then, but that wasn't surprising. Carlos was unusual in all sorts of ways; for one thing, he had an unbridled enthusiasm for his subject matter, unlike several of the journalism professors, who had both the energy levels and general shape of Jell-O that failed to take to the mold. For another, he had more degrees than any other professor at the university; doctorates in physics, biology, chemistry, and several sciences Cecil was pretty sure weren't even real—thermodynamic genetics, micro-quantum zoology, metabiological astronomy, upside-down seismology—wallpapered his office, each in an identical cherry wood frame, although Carlos couldn't have been older than forty. 

Cecil must have been in Carlos’ office more times than the rest of the students in his Intro to Scientific Science course combined. This was partially because, in spite of his excitement about the subject, Cecil was extraordinarily bad at science and needed an awful lot of tutoring just to maintain a passing grade. It was partially because Carlos was gorgeous.

Cecil sometimes wondered if one of the subjects Carlos had studied in grad school was the Science of Being Handsome because if so, he ought to win the Nobel Prize in it. Cecil imagined what the degree might say: Carlos the Scientist, PhD in Biophysical Perfection. Cecil assumed that “the Scientist” was what it said on all the degrees; each on had a crack in the glass where a last name ought to be, and the syllabus had an ink splatter after the words “Dr. Carlos” in the upper corner of the page, almost as if the printer had rebelled against student knowledge of the professor’s full name.

In truth, the reason Cecil needed so much extra tutoring in the first place was because it was extraordinarily difficult to focus on particles and hypotheses and whatever else Carlos was talking about while he was gesturing with his capable scientist’s hands or pushing his glasses closer to his deep brown eyes or, most distracting of all, running his fingers through his dark, perfect hair. Cecil often found his thoughts wandering away from the scientific method and toward the method Carlos might use to kiss him under a full moon or to wrap his arms around his waist as they gazed up at the stars, Carlos’ soft, oaky voice explaining constellations and the orbital rotation of planets.

(Sometimes they wandered toward more R-rated scenarios, too, but Cecil tried to save those imaginings for the nights his roommate was out at parties and he could be alone with his thoughts—and his hands.)

Tonight is one of those nights when his thoughts wander. There’s an equation on the whiteboard, something with more variables than Cecil could reasonably be expected to keep track of, and Carlos is breaking it down with different-colored markers, while Cecil daydreams about running his hands down the front of that starched white lab coat, wondering whether his fingertips would find hard muscle or soft, kissable flesh beneath. The thought of kissing Carlos’ stomach is intriguing, as is the thought of moving his mouth even lower— _watch yourself, Palmer_ , he thinks—and he tries to refocus his attention on the equation.

“—is a universal constant. Does that make sense?”

“Uh-huh,” Cecil says vaguely.

“Now, once you’ve determined the acceleration—” 

Carlos drops his dry erase marker then, and when he bends down to pick it up, Cecil is treated to a spectacular view of his ass in jeans, and without realizing he’s doing it, he lets out an appreciative _mmmm_.

“What was that, Cecil?”

Cecil sits up, startled. 

“Um, nothing, Carlos. Nothing at all. You were saying? About the acceleration?”

But the damage is already done. Cecil had been foolish enough to wear sweatpants into Carlos’ office that night—the bright violet ones with the University logo on the front and the word LEARNING across the butt—which means that there is no hiding the full-on erection Carlos’ dropped marker has inadvertently caused.

“Cecil,” Carlos says slowly, and in spite of his humiliation, Cecil can’t help but appreciate the sound of his name on the beautiful scientist’s lips. “Have you been listening to anything I’m saying?”

“Sure! Um, there was a universal constant, and acceleration and um…friction? Or fiction. Which is the scientific one again?” Cecil knows perfectly well the difference between friction and fiction, but he’s babbling, trying to distract himself and Carlos from the awkward situation at hand.

“Can you tell me the name of the equation we’re working on?”

“Um. Newton’s fifth law…of science?”

“That isn’t a formula, Cecil.” Carlos sighs and settles into his desk chair, pushing his glasses up so he can press his fingertips on either side of the bridge of his nose. “Cecil?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a crush on me? Is that why you’re struggling so much in my class?”

“No! No, that’s definitely not it. I’m, uh, more of a humanities person, you know, journalism major and all, so science and math are not my…or, actually, I have dyslexia! No, that’s a lie. I shouldn’t lie. Um…”

“It’s okay if you do,” Carlos says. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

“Oh. Well, in that case, yes.”

“I think it might be best if you stopped coming to my office hours.”

“Oh. Okay.” Cecil tries not to sound too crushed, even though he feels exactly that, as though someone has taken an empty soda can and crushed it against his chest.

“I’m sure Dr. Those will be happy to tutor you instead, if you ask her. I can send her an email if you want, I just—” Carlos inhales deeply. “It’s nothing personal, Cecil. But the university has rules, and professor-student relationships are—well, not prohibited, technically, as long as I didn’t allow it affect your grades, although that frankly seems impossible, I can’t imagine failing someone I’m involved with even if they do think Newton’s fifth law of science is the name of an actual formula—” And Carlos freezes suddenly, as though only just realizing what he's said. “I’m sorry, that was—I didn’t mean to—”

Cecil, however, is smirking. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”

“Um. I can’t honestly say that I haven’t.”

This statement hangs in the air for a moment, shimmering with possibility.

Then Cecil leans across the desk and kisses his professor full on the mouth.

He expects Carlos to pull away, or at least resist a little, but instead Carlos puts his hand on the back of Cecil’s neck and pulls him closer, tongue finding his way into Cecil’s mouth, and oh, this is so much better than fantasy, so much better than the lonely nights spent imagining himself bent over lab tables or kneeling in front of desks.

The kiss is long and heated, but the angle is awkward, and eventually Cecil’s neck starts to hurt, and Carlos’ must, too, because they break apart without either of them knowing who moved away first.

“We should—” Cecil says, at the same time Carlos says, “This is a bad idea.”

They stare at each other for a moment.

“Do you really think it’s a bad idea,” Cecil says slowly. “Or are you just saying that because you think should?”

He sees Carlos swallow. Cecil hadn't been expecting his own boldness—but then again, he'd never expected that his gorgeous professor would be interested in him, too.

“Cecil, I—” He worries his lip, and Cecil can't help imagining his own lower lip on the receiving end of Carlos’ gentle nibbling. 

Finally, Carlos seems to come to a decision. “Come here,” he says softly.

Cecil stands and walks to the opposite side of the desk. Carlos grabs Cecil by the waist and pulls him into his lap, so that Cecil’s hips are straddling his. Cecil squeaks in an embarrassingly high-pitched way when Carlos’ hands move to his ass and squeeze gently. 

Carlos speaks quietly, but his words seem to fill the whole of Cecil's hearing. “You’re not the only one who gets distracted in class sometimes, Cecil,” he says. “That voice of yours is intoxicating…even when you start rambling on about something and cause a small explosion.”

“Hey, that only happened—”

“Three times, Cecil. It happened three times.”

“Well, surely other students—”

“No one else has ever caused that level of destruction in my classroom.”

Cecil opens his mouth to protest again, but is silenced by Carlos kissing him, long and deep. When they come up for air, Carlos rests his forehead against Cecil’s.

“This doesn’t have to go any further, you know, Cecil,” Carlos says. “We can stop right now. You can drop my class. We never tell anyone. We go on with our lives.”

“That’s the worst thing you’ve said all night.”

Carlos exhales. “Well then, God help me, I am going to have to have one hell of a conversation with my department head tomorrow morning.”

And then Carlos’ mouth is on his again, and they kiss roughly, teeth clacking against each other, Cecil’s fists in his professor’s perfect hair, Carlos’ hands kneading Cecil’s ass. Cecil tries to grind against him but the chair shakes, and he loses his balance and nearly falls off Carlos’ lap.

“Careful,” Carlos says.

“Physics,” Cecil says, like it's a curse word, and Carlos laughs and gently shoves Cecil off his lap. Cecil starts to whine in protest, but before the sound leaves his mouth, Carlos pushes his hands into his shoulders and presses him up against the wall, and _oh_ , Cecil is not complaining about that feeling at _all_.

He isn’t going to let Carlos have all the fun, though, so he begins to push Carlos’ lab coat off his shoulders, and Carlos lets him. It’s only the first of three or more layers of clothing he’s going to have to remove before he gets to Carlos’ bare chest, but he can feel the anticipation building in his stomach already. He's taken off an item of Carlos’ clothing, and in that action some barrier is crossed, and suddenly it’s real in a way it wasn’t a moment ago—he’s going to have _sex_. With _Carlos_.

Sure enough, it’s not long after the lab coat goes that the rest of their clothes start to disappear as well, Carlos’ tie and sweater vest and button down and undershirt, and Cecil’s rainbow striped cardigan and cat T-shirt all lying on the floor in a messy heap. Cecil runs a flat hand up and down Carlos’ chest and arms, tracing dark skin and well-defined muscle. Carlos runs his nails down Cecil’s back, and Cecil lets out a deep moan that even he didn’t know he could produce.

“Keep making noises like that, and this isn’t going to last much longer,” Carlos says.

“Has that been scientifically proven?”

“Yes,” Carlos says, and then he grabs the waistband of Cecil’s sweatpants and pulls them and his boxers down together in one swift motion. “It has been.”

Cecil squirms a bit at the sudden exposure, but he doesn’t squirm for long, because next thing he knows Carlos wraps his hand around his cock and _fuck_ , that has got to be the best thing he’s ever felt, light-years beyond any of the closeted fratbros or flamboyant theatre majors he’s brought home from parties. Carlos is a man who knows what he’s doing, a man with _experience_ , and Cecil is about to reap the rewards of that.

Carlos murmurs into his ear while he strokes Cecil’s cock, finding sweet spots Cecil didn’t know he had. 

“Scientifically speaking, you are currently experiencing the excitement phase of the sexual arousal cycle,” he says. “Marked by such symptoms as increased heart rate—" Carlos’ other hand makes its way to Cecil’s chest, where his heart is pounding relentlessly against his ribs, “flushed skin—" he touches Cecil’s cheek, which is warm and surely pink, "hardened nipples—" he rubs a thumb over one of Cecil’s, “and, most notably, blood flow to the genitals, observed in males as an erection of the penis.”

Carlos twists his wrist, and Cecil’s back curves into an arch against the wall, and he is too turned on to be embarrassed by his moans.

“Tell me what you want, Cecil.”

Cecil lets out an incoherent whimper.

“Use your words."

Cecil takes a deep breath.

"I want to suck your cock."

His heart races, and he swears he can feel his pulse in his toes, it's pumping so hard. But Carlos seems as thrilled by the idea as he is because his pupils go dark and wide and he takes his hand off Cecil's cock to unzip his jeans and tug them off along with his underwear.

The sight of Carlos naked is glorious. He is perfect, Cecil thinks, in every way, from his dark gorgeous curls to the stretch marks around his hips to his slightly crooked toes.

Cecil can't help but let out a low whistle, and Carlos laughs softly. 

"Everything you imagined I'd be?"

"Better," Cecil says, and Carlos moves them so that they switch positions, Carlos' back against the wall and Cecil standing in front of him. Cecil drops to his knees without hesitation. Absurdly, his first thought is that the university must have really shelled out for flooring because the carpet thick and lush. All the better for staying on his knees for a long time.

Cecil has given his fair share of blow jobs in his life, but this feels different somehow, more important. Maybe it's because Carlos is the oldest person he's been with. Maybe it's because he's eager to impress the professor who has so thoroughly impressed him.

He takes a brief moment to circle his thumb over the head of Carlos' cock, almost reverent, before mirroring the action with his tongue. Carlos lets out a soft groan, and Cecil can't help but feel pleased by the praise, eager to earn more. He slides his tongue along the underside of Carlos' cock, tracing a pulsing vein up and down a few times before taking Carlos into his mouth proper, moaning himself at the sensation of Carlos, his dear, adored Carlos, stretching his lips and filling his mouth. He tries to not get caught up in the thought of other ways that Carlos might fill him and focus on the task at hand.

Cecil pulls out all his tricks. After a few moments of slow, luxurious sucking, Carlos' strong hands stroking his hair gently, he pulls off almost completely before quickly swallowing down until Carlos' cock brushes against the back of his throat.

"Oh _fuck_ , Cecil," Carlos says, and if Cecil could, he would grin at the sight of this Serious Scientist falling apart so beautifully, all because of him, the one student out of hundreds Carlos had chosen to lavish his attentions on. Cecil does not intend to disappoint.

He continues to increase the pressure of his tongue as he bobs up and down on Carlos' cock, and then he reaches back to fondle his balls. This is a slightly riskier move, as it isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it appears to be Carlos' because he lets out a sound not quite high-pitched enough to constitute a squeak but in the same general category.

"Ceec," he murmurs, stroking Cecil's hair, and Cecil thinks his heart might melt from the epithet. He isn't normally fond of nicknames, but from Carlos it feels like something sincere, something beyond blind lust that's motivating Carlos to break his own rule about relationships with students, something like tenderness or caring or—and he tries not to dwell on the thought—maybe even love.

Carlos' eyes have fluttered shut with pleasure as Cecil works, and Cecil can't help but gaze upward, watching his professor melt helplessly against the wall, moaning as Cecil does the same, the vibrations prompting even more moans in a endless cycle of moaning. Cecil thinks vaguely that there must be some kind of scientific phenomenon connected to this auditory loop, but as his mouth is rather `, he doesn't ask. 

"Cecil," Carlos chokes out. "Stop, please."

Cecil pulls off, brow furrowed. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just, um. Really close." Carlos breathes deeply. "Holy fuck, Cecil, where did you learn how to do that?"

Cecil grins. "Frat houses."

"Really?"

"I mean, among other places."

A brief moment passes in silence, both men breathing heavily, before Carlos speaks again.

"Cecil."

"Carlos."

"I want to fuck you."

Cecil swallows, hardly believing what he's hearing can be real.

“Do you have lube?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“This is my office, Cecil.”

“So?”

“So I don’t usually fuck my students in my office.”

Cecil grins. “That’s a shame. Lucky for you, I stopped by the student center last week, where there are free condoms and lube packets aplenty.” He bounds across the room to his backpack, unzips the front pocket, and pulls out a fistful of colorfully wrapped squares. 

“Now, the lube’s all the one brand, but we’ve got all sorts of options for condoms—regular, ribbed, something called ‘bioluminescent,’ which sounds exotic. And flavors, too—orange, strawberry, hot milk, goat—”

“How about you grab the first things your hands touch and get back here so I can bend you over my desk?”

And at that Cecil’s heart goes into overdrive, and it must only be pumping blood to his cock, so he does as Carlos says and grabs two things at random before hurrying over to where Carlos stands next to his office chair, dark eyes running up and down Cecil’s body and promising delicious things to come.

“Bend over,” Carlos whispers, and Cecil complies immediately, moaning gently as he settles over glass and mahogany, elbows resting on the desk in front of him. 

Carlos gropes his ass with both hands. "God, you're gorgeous," he says. "I've been trying to keep my hands off you all semester."

"You didn't have to," Cecil says, breathless. "I'd have done whatever you asked."

"You're doing it now."

"Damn straight. Now are you going to fuck me or what?"

He hears Carlos laugh breathily, but he also hears the sound of the single-use lube packet breaking open. A moment later, he feels Carlos' fingers gently spreading his cheeks, his pointer finger tracing circles around his entrance before finally, finally sliding inside.

Cecil has to resist the urge to thrust back into the contact, musters up his willpower to hold himself in place while one finger becomes two and two becomes three and _God_ those extra years Carlos has over Cecil are serving him well, fingers moving expertly in scissoring motions and thrusting motions and over Cecil's prostate just enough to make him moan in his lowest registers but not enough to grant any proper satisfaction.

"Ready for me?" Carlos murmurs, and Cecil has no words left, so he only nods and whimpers, and it's a loss when Carlos' fingers disappear and leave him empty, but worth it, so, so worth it, when the condom wrapper finishes crinkling and he feels Carlos pressing into his entrance. After a moment, Cecil is completely filled with Carlos' thick, gorgeous cock, and his vision practically goes blurry with the sensation of it, his mind a fog. This is happening, he thinks. It's really, truly, _happening_.

He does not have much time to think on this, however, because Carlos is moving inside him, thrusting in a rhythm that is nothing short of heavenly, and even though Cecil is right on the edge and desperate to come, he wants to make it last, wants to stay here being fucked by Carlos in his office forever.

Carlos comes with Cecil's name on his lips and _God_ , Cecil thinks he will remember that sound forever, the way Carlos gasps _Cecil_ in a voice heavy with pleasure.

Carlos reaches around the desk for Cecil's cock and begins stroking him like before, a little rougher than last time, a little less finessed, but extraordinary nonetheless, and Cecil comes in under a minute, comes all over Carlos' pretty glass-topped desk, and it's the best orgasm he's had in—well, maybe ever.

They stay there together, breathless, for a few long moments, and Cecil wishes they could remain in those minutes for eternity, blissed out and stretched out over Carlos’ desk, content in their mutual hazy satisfaction, never having to think about what they had just done or what it might mean. Eventually, though, the moment ends, and they collapse back into reality. Carlos pulls out, and Cecil stands. Carlos tosses the condom and leftover lube away and uses his undershirt to mop up the mess Cecil has made on his desk. 

When he finishes, he begins collecting his clothes and dressing, and Cecil follows suit. When the last of their buttons has been fastened, Cecil busies himself with his backpack, shuffling papers and opening and closing zippers with no particular purpose in mind. He's simply reluctant to make eye contact with Carlos, uncertain what he might say or what might happen next. 

“Cecil?”

“Yes?” He tries and fails to sound nonchalant.

"Would you like to go on a date sometime? Friday night, maybe?"

Cecil opens his mouth to respond but finds that the words are stuck in his throat.

"There's this great Italian place downtown we could go to. Or, I mean—we don't have to go at all, if you don't want to, if you want to just—"

"I'd love to!" Cecil squeaks, his power to speak having suddenly returned. "That would be…neat!"

He kicks himself internally. Neat? _Really?_ But Carlos doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he's grinning. 

"Wonderful. I'll see you then."

Cecil stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder, his grin mirroring Carlos'. He turns toward the door to leave when Carlos speaks again.

"Oh, and Cecil?"

"Yes?"

"Make sure you study for that quiz next week. I'm not letting you off easy just because I'm taking you out."

"Of course not, professor," Cecil's grin turns wicked. "That would be against the rules."


End file.
